


Devotions

by Germinal



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, M/M, Masturbation, Orestes Fanboying, Sexual Fantasy, idolatry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 18:58:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Germinal/pseuds/Germinal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: "Enjolras gets himself off while thinking about Saint-Just and/or Robespierre." Basically does what it says on the tin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devotions

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [献祭](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6109352) by [Jacinthe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jacinthe/pseuds/Jacinthe)



On the cusp of long-awaited sleep, his fingers stained with ink from long, exhausting, glorious and vital hours spent on speeches, maps and pamphlets, Enjolras allows himself to take himself in hand. 

His small and cluttered room is silent and in shadow, lit by a stub of a candle. Just enough light is cast upon the print of Saint-Just above his writing-desk for Enjolras to make it out from where he lies across his single bed, one hand around his cock, his hair loose and dishevelled. 

The portrait’s immaculate appearance, that full, inviting mouth, imperious gaze and glossy dark curls, of course hold less appeal for Enjolras than Saint-Just's status as the driving-force of revolution - tireless, fearless, disciplined and pure, an architect of progress and enlightenment for whom there is nothing Enjolras would not do, to whom he would deny nothing of himself. 

Enjolras spreads his legs and lets his eyes fall shut, the image of Saint-Just imprinted on the dark behind his eyelids.

A rare indulgence, this, and more than half the product of his overwork, but brought on too by his constant desire to be worthy of his inspiration. He licks his parted lips and slips two fingers in between them, sucking and licking entirely without inhibition, his other hand moving in quick, practised strokes of his cock. 

He thinks about that mouth against his own, thinks of the confidence with which Saint-Just would claim him, the fervour and enthusiasm with which Enjolras would display his revolutionary commitment. He imagines assured, commanding hands taking possession of his bared skin, tangling in his hair, and he spreads his legs further, shamelessly, allowing himself to imagine Saint-Just’s approval. 

How far would he go for such a man, to prove himself worthy of the revolution? Given up to the moment, he presses his spit-slick fingers up inside himself, tightens his grip on his cock, and as the candle gutters and extinguishes itself he spills into his hand, biting his lip hard to stifle a cry of his idol’s name into the darkness.

With his occasional devotions complete, his eyes open, heavy-lidded, and he sighs. This unfamiliar lassitude only lasts a moment before tiredness finally overtakes him. 

In sleep Enjolras dreams, as in his waking hours, of little else but victory and virtue.


End file.
